


And We All Turn To Ash

by golden_redhead



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Banter, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Nightmares, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Whump, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post Season 2, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sibling Bonding, Spoilers for Season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_redhead/pseuds/golden_redhead
Summary: Seconds, not decades.The blue glow pulsed between his fingers and he pulled at the familiarity of the feeling, pulling until time and space bent under his touch, parting as he struggled to squeeze himself through just enough to jump and change the course of history.The energy, familiar but somehow different, courses through his body and then he moves, for a few precious seconds existing within the time and yet outside of it.-a.k.a.Five is so, so close to getting them back home and making things right. And then he isn't.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Allison Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Diego Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Luther Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Reginald Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & The Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy), Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Everyone
Comments: 66
Kudos: 593





	1. Chapter 1

He could still feel the phantom feeling of the bullets piercing through his skin, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, the way the light had been pulling him deeper into its embrace, murmuring his name sweetly as if to welcome him home.

But it is never that easy, not if you are one of the members of the Umbrella Academy. Reginald Hargreeves surely made sure of that, his cold, accusatory voice echoing in his head as Five was blinking against the darkness threatening to swallow his vision, gasping pitifully on the ground.

_Seconds, not decades._

The blue glow pulsed between his fingers and he pulled at the familiarity of the feeling, pulling until time and space bent under his touch, parting as he struggled to squeeze himself through just enough to jump and change the course of history. 

The energy, familiar but somehow different, courses through his body and then he _moves_ , for a few precious seconds existing within the time and yet outside of it. 

And then he is on the other side of the barn, wide-eyed and gasping, his body moving on instinct when the Handler reached the door, his fingers curling around the gun with practiced ease as he knocked it out of her hands and pointed it at her. 

Five closes his eyes, shaking the memory off as he takes the mug offered by Vanya and pulls it closer, inhaling the rich smell of coffee sloshing inside. Across the table, Vanya smiles at him softly when he murmurs a quiet thank you and takes a sip, ignoring the way it burns his tongue, happy to taste anything other than blood. The bone-deep exhaustion settles in his limbs and Five fights against the urge to rest his head against the table, his grip on the mug tightening until his knuckles turn white. There’s buzzing in his head, a headache throbbing in his temples and briefly, he wonders when was the last time he slept. He suspects that he’s been going on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline for one day too many. 

“Are you alright?” Vanya asks quietly, slipping into the seat across from him, also with a mug clutched in her hands. Five lets his eyes sweep over her figure, noting the tension still visible in the hunch of her shoulders and the redness of her eyes indicating that she’s been crying not so long ago, most likely shortly after Sissy and Harlan’s departure. She looked a little paler than usual but otherwise appeared to be unharmed. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question?” he deflects easily.

Vanya’s eyes drop to the table. “I’m okay,” she responds a little too quickly. “Or at least I think I am going to be. It’s just, you know… It’s a lot.”

Five nods slowly, well-known feeling of guilt turning into a tight knot in his stomach as her words from before ring in his ears, the look of genuine anger in her eyes when she reminded him that it was his fault that they were stuck here in the first place, the way her power swirled around him threateningly, ready to burst out of her small frame and destroy everything on its way. 

“It’ll get better,” he says eventually, hoping it sounds at least somewhat reassuring, words awkward on his lips.

He’s never been good at offering comfort, not even when he was a child, relying on his other siblings during the missions gone wrong, missions during which they couldn’t keep the civilians safe. It was usually either Allison or Diego -- or Klaus, on rare situations when it was a child that needed comforting -- who would crouch next to the victims, all soft words and warm smiles, promising that everything will be okay, even if they knew that there was little to be done, even if it was already too late and all they could do was offer a hand to hold and some sweet reassurances, empty promises.

And then the apocalypse happened and… Well, there wasn’t really anyone who needed to be comforted in the apocalypse, was there?

The silence that settles between them isn’t an uncomfortable one and it reminds him of the times when they would simply sit in each other’s presence on those rare days when their father had some business to attend and left them to focus on their studies alone, Vanya humming quietly as she was finishing her homework at the table and Five reading, curled in one of the big armchairs, enjoying her company and ready to offer help if she ran into any kind of problem with her homework. Sometimes, Ben would join them and Vanya would play her violin, the sound carrying through the corridors of the academy and they would pretend they to be a normal family, the melodies that Vanya played stuck in Five's head even so many years later, calming. 

His chest swells with fondness at the memory and he desperately tries not to think about all the times the same memory kept him sane as the ash was swirling in the air around him. For too many years that deep-rooted sense of longing, the hope that one day they would sit like that again was the only thing that kept him going. 

He frowns, staring at the mug in his hands. 

He’s been living this fantasy for so long, months and years eventually blending into decades, and now that it’s within his reach it feels nothing like he expected it to feel, a pang of what almost feels like disappointment in his chest. He was gone for so long. Ben is no longer here and he messed things up so, so much, kept messing things up since the moment he came back. First failing to prevent the apocalypse, then strangling his siblings scattered across the years, agreeing to act like the Handler's faithful little assassin, letting Lila go... He inhales sharply, his eyes fluttering closed for a second as he tries to compose himself, fighting against the wave of nausea that crashes into him unexpectedly, two long weeks of constant battles and stress ready to take its toll on this new and yet old body of his, so frail and bony it's disgusting. 

“Five?” Vanya’s concerned voice reaches his ears and he can feel her hovering nearby. “Is everything okay?”

He forces his eyes open and feels his lips stretch in a smile that feels a little too strained around the edges to be genuine. He hopes that after over seventeen Vanya can’t tell the difference. 

“Of course,” he says, forcing a note of nonchalance into his voice. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

He doesn’t wait for her to respond and pushes his chair back, standing up abruptly and blinking out of the kitchen before she could even open her mouth. 

-

He finds Diego inside the barn, sitting on a bale of hay, playing with one of his knives absent-mindedly, turning and twisting them with adept ease in his fingers. He doesn’t spare even a single glance in Five’s direction when he warps in, unfazed. He's fixed staring at the spot on the ground with unseeing eyes, deep in thought. 

Five clears his throat to catch his attention. Diego doesn't look up, but his hands still.

“We’re leaving soon. The rest is saying their goodbyes and resting before we go. Be ready to leave,” he informs him curtly and then moves to leave.

“Wait, Five,” Diego calls out and there’s this kind of urgency in his voice that makes Five turn, facing him. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Five raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Shoot.”

Diego worked his jaw for a moment as if battling with himself, looking for the right words or debating whether asking his question was a good idea in the first place.

Five rolled his eyes. “Diego, I don’t have all day.”

“Do you think Lila is gonna track us?” Diego blurts out, finally lifting his head and locking his eyes with Five's.

Five freezes, body tensing. “Does it matter?”

Diego's gaze hardens. “To me, yes.”

Five pushes his hands into the pockets, annoyed, and then stifles a wince when the movement aggravates his old shrapnel wound and his scattered with bruises body flares with pain in protest. 

The truth is, Lila is the last thing he wants to think about. 

So many conflicting emotions -- suspicion, concern, guilt -- coil at the pit of his stomach when he thinks back about their last encounter, but he doesn’t have time to inspect or dignify any of them with any sort of deeper thought or consideration. Until he gets all of them back to the Academy, back to their timeline, nothing else matters. He's been too close too many times, only to watch it burn and crash, he's not about to let it happen again, not after everything they went through and when it's practically in his grasp.

“I don’t know. Probably?” Five shrugs, lowering his gaze and frowning. “I don’t think she’s the type of person to just give up. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still out for my head. After all, I killed her parents,” he bares his teeth in a sharp smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Diego winces and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, that…”

Five sighs, sympathetic but impatient, trying to keep himself from snapping at Diego in his clearly vulnerable state, as always worrying about the wrong thing. 

“Look, Diego. We’ll worry about Lila later, okay? Who knows where she is and what kind of trouble she’s up to. The Handler’s gone now and Lila will probably find us at some point. Her whereabouts are irrelevant right now, we'll worry about her once we make sure that both of the apocalypses have been averted. We _have to_ go back to 2019. Nothing is more important than that, surely even an idiot like you understand that. We messed up the timeline enough already,” he finishes with emphasis, pinning Diego with a cold, penetrating stare, as if to make sure that he understands. 

Diego almost looks like he’s about to protest but then he seems to think better of it and gives him a short, curt nod. 

Five's shoulders drop in relief, not in the mood to fight him over something like that, and he releases a small sigh, eager to drop this argument. “Great. See you soon.”

He disappears with a soft whoosh, leaving Diego to his brooding. 

-

He finds Klaus outside, leaning against the wall, a cigarette sticking out from his mouth, tendrils of silvery smoke curling around his face with every exhale. 

"Where did you even find that?" asks Five, frowning at the half-empty pack of cigarettes in his hand. 

"Oh, this?" Klaus cocks his head to the side, smiling around the cigarette in his mouth. "Sweet little Vanya gave it to me."

"Since when does Vanya smoke?"

Klaus shrugs, swaying in place, as if dancing to the song only he can hear, eyes fluttering closed

Five shakes his head. "Nevermind. We leave in thirty minutes, so don't move anywhere. If you won't be here we're leaving without you."

"Aye aye, captain," Klaus agrees with a small salute, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

Five narrows his eyes at him. "I'm serious, Klaus."

"Me too, brother of mine. Totally super duper serious, I swear," Klaus presses a hand to his heart, batting his eyelashes in a way that doesn’t look even remotely innocent. 

Five frowns at him for a little longer, looking at him as if trying to determine whether he’s lying or not, but eventually relents, knowing that he has no time for this.

He swears that getting his siblings in one place seems to border on impossibility and he doesn't trust them enough to believe that they will actually listen, once in their life.

It's like herding a bunch of wayward cats _,_ he thinks tiredly and warps back into the house with one last look in Klaus's direction, catching him smiling at him innocently and raising his hand, flashing him the ‘goodbye’ inscribed in black ink on his palm before blue light envelops his body and Five appears in the living room of Sissy’s house, stumbling slightly when his whole body bursts with pain. 

He groans, reaching out to stabilize himself against the nearest wall, gasping as he struggles to force the precious oxygen into his lungs and -- for a few horrifying seconds -- failing miserably until his body seems to remember how to do it. 

No more jumping, he thinks dizzily, swallowing the bile in his mouth and swaying slightly in place, resting his head against the wall, the pleasant coolness of the bare bricks offering a brief moment of relief as he wills his heart to calm down. He blinks, once, twice, pushing the darkness lurking at the edges of his vision away.

He doesn’t have time for this.

“Five?” Allison’s voice rings close and he curses under his breath, pushing himself away from the wall, straightening and schooling his grimace into something less pained, willing the muscles of his face into a neutral expression and hoping it’ll be enough to fool the others long enough for them to go back home. He’ll worry about his traitorous body once the threat of inevitable doom is averted. 

Moments later, Allison rounds the corner, looking concerned. “Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

“Just peachy,” Five brushes past her, curling his trembling hands into fists and pushing them into his pockets. “Where is Luther?”

Allison blinks, following after him deeper into the house. There’s suspicion present in the dip of her brows, like he’s suspecting that he’s leaving something out but unsure how to bring up the topic. “He’s in the kitchen with Vanya. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

He doesn’t respond, heading in the direction of the kitchen instead, stepping over the pile of rubble and pushing the door that’s barely hanging in its hinges, broken by the force of multiple bullets and now riddled with holes. He feels a little sick, seeing the full excess of the harm, acutely aware how lucky they were now that the danger is gone. the fact that neither of them died is nothing short of a miracle. 

But then again, it isn’t entirely true, is it?

After all, they did die. It just didn’t happen to be as permanent as it usually is. 

The black briefcase rests innocently on the table when he enters the kitchen, Luther and Vanya talking in hushed voices near it. It’s been a while since he last saw Vanya this relaxed -- or maybe it’s the first time, ever? -- and he has to admit that it’s a nice change, the lines of her forehead smooth where they used to be pulled tightly in a slight frown that used to be indefinitely fixed on her face, no matter how hard he tried his best to cheer her up. 

“Have you seen Diego?” Vanya asks, looking up from her conversation with Luther as he gets closer.

“Outside. You can go get him, we’re leaving soon,” Five said distractedly, waving vaguely in the direction of the door, not tearing his eyes away from the briefcase.

She called him her sole confidant in her book, a lifetime ago, a fact that used to send a pleasant, warm feeling through his veins, a rare sense of pride, always immediately squashed, followed by a great surge of guilt.

Five’s used to guilt by now, having been defined by this feeling for so long, his father’s cold _I told you so_ ringing in his head at all times, distressingly correct and unforgiving. 

Maybe that’s what makes it so hard to swallow, the truth that he can’t argue with, defeated by his own pragmatism. The Handler was correct about that after all. 

His hands are shaking, he notes absently, reaching for the briefcase and inspecting it, running his fingers along the edges, making sure that it'll take them home safely, putting the coordinates with great care, well aware of how disastrous in consequences would it be if he messed it all up again. Third time’s a charm, he thinks bitterly, setting the briefcase down, now successfully programmed and ready for use. 

Five can feel a little bit of tension that’s been settled in his shoulders dissipate, a small smile tugging at his lips. He knows it’s too early to celebrate and the truth is that he won’t be able to relax in relief fully until they are where they should be, but he also can’t help it but feel relieved, pleased to know that for the first time in over forty-five years he’ll be able to breathe.

He gathers them outside, sparing one last look at the house, feeling a pang of guilt course through his veins. What once must have been a nice rural house, hidden between the fields and woods stands here now, reduced to its foundations and full of holes. It’s a sad sight that reminds him of the apocalypse a little too much, abandoned and collapsed buildings looming over him, devoid of life and hauntingly empty, the fire destroying everything on its way. 

He spent various nights hiding in buildings like these, curled with his back against the walls as he struggled to fall asleep, nightmares after nightmares ruining his hopes for a good night’s sleep and leaving him even more vulnerable than he already was. The images of his dead siblings were imprinted underneath his eyelids, always there, lurking just at the edge of his vision and ready to plague his dreams. There was no escaping them and so after a while he stopped trying, letting the visions of what could have happened and how they must have felt in those final moments torment him until he would pass out from pure exhaustion, grateful for the comforting embrace of darkness. 

His hold on the briefcase tightens and Five inhales deeply, a strong sense of relief crashing into him all at once he realizes they are barely seconds away from being home, safe in their own timeline, almost overwhelming. 

So close. Almost there. 

He gets them all in a circle, pushing the pestering memory of the last time they did it at the very back of his mind, not letting it distract him. He knws he screwed up. He hopes that once they’re home it’ll no longer matter. 

With one last steadying breath, Five opens the briefcase and screws his eyes shut. 

...

_Something’s wrong._

By the time he realizes that it’s already too late to do anything about it other than let it happen, the blinding light emitting from the briefcase swallowing him and his family, the rush of time reaching forward and pulling them through the decades at dizzying speed.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it’s over, and Five can feel the embrace of time and space releasing him from its hold, knocking the air out of his lungs in its rush. 

Something’s wrong, he thinks, the realization dawning on him slowly. He can feel his mouth go dry and his breath hitching. 

He forces his eyes open, not wanting to delay the inevitable, knowing what’s awaiting him long before his eyes can catch up.

All he sees is ash.

Ash before his eyes, ash itching in his nose, ash finding its way into his ears and clinging to his clothes and skin, a familiar burning feeling crawling into his throat, leaving him all choked up in a way that he had no choice but to get used to the last time he was trapped in the wasteland.

He's on the ground, he realizes dazedly, unsure how he got there. It's hard and uncomfortable against his back, and yet so strangely recognizable, the vast expanse of the oh-so-familiar apocalypse spreading before his eyes once they adjust just enough to focus, his siblings gone and the world still burning around him. 

Five opens his mouth but all he can manage is a broken sob. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that new season was pretty crazy, huh? 
> 
> I honestly didn't expect to write this, but here we are, I guess! I'm a little nervous about posting this if I'm being honest. Also, I have some ideas for the next chapter (chapters?), but it's all vague for now, so I'm not entirely sure where I'm gonna take this just yet. I simply needed a way to sort out my thoughts about the last episode and Five's development specifically because oh boy, it sure was something! I am so happy with how Five was portrayed this season, especially since I totally didn't expect him to have as much character development as he did considering that seasons one and two were only like, 2 weeks for him, but I am so happy that the new season proved me wrong. 
> 
> Kudos & comments are very appreciated! They are the best motivation. Also, feel free to share your thoughts about the new season, I'm dying to discuss it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego reaches out to his harness, fingers brushing against one of his knives, the cool edges of the blade grounding him in reality as he wracks his brain, focusing on the familiar itching under his skin like he knows there’s more to it, he just has to remember. 
> 
> And then it clicks. 
> 
> “Briefcase malfunction," Diego says, eyes widening with understanding.

"...ive? Five! Wake… up! Shit, Five!"

There's screaming, voices blending together, distant and incoherent, vaguely familiar and yet unrecognizable. And soon, the sound of the fire cracking drowns them all out, drowns everything out, even that broken, raspy sound that comes from somewhere deep in his chest that he can feel but not hear. 

Five can feel the ground beneath him, the rubble hard against his small form, broken wooden beams and rocks digging into his skin and he's heaving, the world continuing to spin around him even though he's pretty sure he must have closed his eyes at some point. 

There's a deep-seated sense of _wrong_ bleeding somewhere inside him, all his instincts screaming at him, urging him to -- to do something, he doesn't know what. He wants to claw at his clothes, body too cold and yet achingly hot, wants to scratch at his own skin until he bleeds bleeds _bleeds,_ until he's naked and raw and exposed and can pry away that pain scorching inside of him. Five wants to make a sound, wants to scream, but with how disoriented his senses seem to be, he can’t tell whether he’s making any sound at all, the sense of disconnect so deep he may as well be floating, his body unable to register anything other than pain radiating through his limbs and scattering his thoughts into an incoherent mess. 

The smell is by far the worst.

Bodies burning, bodies decomposing, that rotten, acrid odor an ongoing assault on his senses until he'll have no other choice to get used to it, his body adapting out of self-preservation. He almost managed to forget it, his sense of smell dulled by years spent in the apocalypse, so it hits him all anew now, awakening the memories he thought he buried deep down. 

It’s all so acutely familiar, the memories he’s been trying to keep at bay resurfacing in all of their hideous glory right before his eyes, images and smells he’s been pushing at the back of his mind ever since he found his way back to 2019, stubbornly ignoring their existence. 

But the apocalypse always seems to find its way to claim him, he’s always just one step short of escaping it. 

He tries to gather his thoughts, fighting against the sense of nausea and dizziness, clammy hands clenching and unclenching into weak fists at his sides uselessly. He feels exposed in all the wrong ways, soft belly and neck uncovered, helpless against the fires and harsh winds of the end of the world. 

It takes enormous effort to force his eyes open, his body refusing to listen to him, too light and too heavy all at once, fighting against him.

He doesn’t understand, a loop of neverending confusion, everything too much and too intense, devoid of sense.

_My family,_ Five thinks blearily, blinking against the ash, against the blackness that crawls around the edges of his vision threateningly. _I need to find my family..._

He tries to conjure his powers, reaching for the gap in space blindly, pulling at the layers of the universe and trying to pry them apart, the light around his hands flickering a few times and then fading away. There’s something stopping him, an invisible force, and no matter how much he pushes and pulls it’s hopeless, his power failing to respond how it should, flickering pitifully until even that stops.

A wretched, broken half sob and half gasp tears itself from his throat, his chest feeling too tight, too restricted, as if he couldn’t even draw in a breath without his lungs bursting into flames.

Five could feel himself spiraling out of control with every wheezing breath, unable to do anything else other than watch the ash as it swirls in the air, deceivingly similar to snow and yet distinctly different. 

In his panic-stricken state, he forgets how to breathe, lungs giving up on him, refusing to perform their most basic function, and if he knew how, he would scream. 

He screws his eyes shut, but the ash doesn’t leave, trapped beneath his eyelids, and in a moment of striking clarity, he realizes that he’s choking on it.

  
  


-

  
  
  


The briefcase spits them all out in a heap of limbs, sending most of the Hargreeves siblings on the ground in a flash of blue, the electricity cracking, and then drops on the table, laying there innocently, for the untrained eye looking like any other briefcase.

For a moment they’re all quiet, trying to orient themselves, most of them unused to being dragged through the fragile construction of time and space in a matter of seconds.

The Academy looks the way it always does, wrapped in the shadows and intimidating, all tall columns and concrete floors, high ceilings looming over them. Even after his death, Sir Reginald’s presence is palatable in the air, his spirit present in the elegant arches of the ceiling and the piercing chill of the long corridors.

“Did we make it?” Luther asks eventually, stifling a groan and leaning against the table to pull himself up. “Wh… What day is it?”

“I’m gonna puke,” Klaus complains from the floor apropos of nothing, propping himself on his elbows, eyes closed and head tilted back.

Diego rolls his eyes, the only one of them who managed to stay on his feet. “Oh, shut up. You’re fine, drama queen.”

“Are we home? Are we really home?” Allison asks, standing up unsteadily and looking around as if in disbelief.

“Looks like it,” Diego comments, reaching out for the paper lying on the table, eyes skipping over the words, searching for the date. April 2nd, 2019, it reads. 

Luther lets out a short laugh, a little breathless, his broad shoulders dropping in visible relief. “God, finally.”

Diego releases a small sigh through his nose, feeling a little bit of the tension trapped in his body easing out for the first time in weeks, a foreign kind of fondness he never imagined he could feel while back at the Academy blooming in his chest.

It’s not home, it hasn’t been home for years, but right now it’s close enough. And soon, once he makes sure that everyone and everything, Grace and the moon included, is back to normal, then he’ll be free to go back to his place at Al’s and crash for the next few days. He deserves that.

“Wait, so we really succeeded?” Klaus blinks in surprise, letting Allison help haul him to his feet. “We actually succeeded at something? That must be a first!”

“Yeah, don’t get too excited,” Allison says jokingly when Klaus pulls her into a one-armed hug. “We wouldn’t be us if we didn’t screw something up.”

“Oh, hush,” Klaus chastises her with a faux-angry glare. “You of little faith.”

Allison snorts and sticks out her tongue at him and Diego ducks his face in his shoulder, hiding a smile when Klaus does the same. 

“Um, you guys?” Vanya’s soft, quiet voice captures their attention, a fearful note in it enough to make Diego’s fingers itch for a knife as he whips his head in her direction, alarmed. “I, uh, I think there’s something wrong with Five.”

“Fuck,” Diego curses, legs leading him on their own, and he crouches down beside Allison who’s already by Five’s side, his eyes fixed on his brother, splayed on the floor and unresponsive.

Five’s on his back, his small form curled slightly to the side, trembling all over. The murmur of his breath is harsh and rattling as his chest rises and falls rapidly as if he’s been drawing each breath with a little much more effort than necessary. There’s a thin trail of blood dribbling down his nose, eyes scrunched up in discomfort. His fingers are twitching, hands shaking at his sides as if he’s trying to reach for something unconsciously but couldn’t quite force his body to cooperate.

"Oh, no.” Allison reaches out first, resting her hand gently on his shoulder, shaking him. “Five? Five! Hey, wake up. Shit, Five!"

He remains unresponsive, his shaking intensifying, a small sound that’s suspiciously similar to a whimper the only indication that he was still with them. 

"What's going on?" Vanya cries out, craning her neck to get a better look, her face pale. “What happened to Five?”

“I don’t know,” Allison says, looking confused, eyebrows creased in worry. “He’s not waking up.” She presses her hand against Five’s cheek, patting it lightly. “Five? Shit, he’s warm. I think he’s running a fever.”

“But he was fine before we left,” Luther says unhelpfully, looking at them for confirmation. “Right?” 

“Was he, though?” Vanya looks at them uncertainly, clearly not convinced. “I don’t know, he didn’t look so good back at Sissy’s.”

Allison nods her head. “Yeah, I think he messed up one of his jumps when he came back after going to get all of you, guys,” she says slowly, thoughtful. “I asked if he was alright, but he just ignored my question.”

Klaus laughs humorlessly, standing further away from his siblings, crowded around Five. “Yeah, well, that’s Five for ya,” he says. 

Luther frowns. “Okay, fine, but that doesn’t explain why he collapsed now and not earlier.”

Vanya nods slowly. “Yeah, he looked kinda bad, but not I’m-gonna-collapse-any-moment-now kind of bad, you know?”

Diego reaches out to his harness, fingers brushing against one of his knives, the cool edges of the blade grounding him in reality as he wracks his brain, focusing on the familiar itching under his skin like he knows there’s more to it, he just has to _remember_. 

And then it clicks. 

“Briefcase malfunction," Diego says, eyes widening with understanding. Somehow, he manages to look both pleased -- smug, almost, for once better informed than everyone else in the room -- and guilty, eyes sweeping over Five's frail form crumpled on the ground. 

He drags his hand over his face, concern settling deep in the curves and dips of his face as the implications of what he said start to sink in. "Shit. This is bad."

Allison's head snaps in his direction, eyes bright with worry. Her hands hover above Five, as if unsure whether she’s allowed to touch him, unable to help, and afraid that she might accidentally hurt him even more. 

"Wait, what do you mean, briefcase malfunction?" She asks, voice sharp enough to cut steel. 

Diego opens his mouth in a rush to explain, but no sound comes out and he can feel his stomach drop with dread. He closes his mouth with an audible click.

He has a name for it, sure, but he had only heard about it once, in passing, mind occupied with things far more important at the time than briefcases or malfunctions or briefcase malfunctions. It was irrelevant and Diego didn’t have a habit of sticking around long enough to learn about irrelevant things. 

"I don't know, okay?" he shrugs helplessly, looking away. Misplaced anger flares somewhere in his chest at the unvoiced accusation in her voice and suddenly he is acutely aware just how useless the small bits of information he has are in this situation. None of this is going to help Five. "I never finished that fucking orientation when I was at the Commission, there were more important things to focus on at the time!"

"Great," Allison curses, features twisted in a frustrated grimace that looks out of place on her usually soft features. "Just great!"

Diego clenches his jaw, his grip on his knife tightening, turning his knuckles white. 

“Hey, excuse me for worrying more about Vanya destroying the world _again_ and trying to save the president! I didn’t have it easy, you know?”

Allison laughs at that, her voice rising, almost bordering on hysterics. “Oh, you think _you_ had it bad?” she snarls. “Try being a black woman in the 1960s, _then_ we can talk! And if you haven’t noticed, I still don’t even know if my daughter is alive!”

They glare at each other over Five’s unconscious figure, the air heavy with tension as both of them refuse to back down.

"Uh, guys?" Klaus's voice calls out, softly, as he looks between the two of them, hand raised.

“Maybe you don’t know, Allison, but I spent most of my time in Dallas locked in a mental institution, drugged, and forced to talk about my supposed daddy issues.”

Allison snorts, unsympathetically. “Oh, that’s rich! There is nothing _supposed_ about your daddy issues, Diego.”

“Guys!” Klaus tries again, only to be ignored once more.

Diego’s words drip with poison and thinly veiled guilt when he continues, jabbing the air with his finger in an accusatory manner. “You know, you always had it easy, Allison. Don’t act like you weren't daddy’s little girl. You could get away with anything you wanted, unlike the rest of us.”

“GUYS!”

"What, Klaus?!" Allison finally snaps at him, head whipping in his direction and teeth bared, clearly not done with Diego and annoyed at the interruption. 

Klaus pouts, looking vaguely offended. His voice is clipped when he speaks up again.

"Oh, no, nothing. You see, I just wanted to bring your attention to the fact that our dear brother seems to be trying to jump out of here. But sure, no big deal, so sorry to interrupt your clearly much more important banter."

A breath hitches in Diego's chest, liquid panic spreading through his veins as he looks down and, sure enough, Five’s hands are glowing, pulled into tight fists as his body tenses, ready to jump. 

“Shit!”

Diego springs into action before any of his siblings has a chance to react, gaping at Five in various states of confusion and horror, and throws himself at him before he could disappear, before he could warp himself out of here and they’d never find him again, vanishing without a trace the same way he did back when they were thirteen. 

Diego grabs his brother’s arms and firmly pins him under his body, anchoring him in place and holding tightly even when Five thrashes against him with broken whimpers, shivers wracking through his small figure violently. Diego refuses to let go, his mouth dry and heart thumping against his ribs as if wishing to escape their confinement. His body goes tense with panic. 

It brings him back to the past, the way Five’s breath rattles in his chest, sobbing silently, the way he did that one time after a particularly tough mission, only months before he left. He dragged Five home, delirious from pain and blood loss, thrashing in Diego’s grip in blind desperation, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, the glow around his hands flickering in and out, unpredictable. Dad told Diego to not let go, not until Luther gets there, not until Pogo brings the cuffs, his steel-grey eyes staring at him, demanding obedience and leaving no room for discussion. His stern voice is echoing in Diego’s head now, admonishing that if he lets go he might never see his brother again, losing him to things beyond Diego’s understanding, lost in-between time and space. 

He didn’t really understand it back then, too young and stubborn to entertain the idea that their Dad could be actually right about something. He thinks he understands now, though, staring at Five’s ashen pale face pulled tight in a frown, his frail body flailing beneath him like a caged animal, straining to pull at his powers, energy pulsating around his fingertips. Diego can feel the heat rolling off of him in waves and he reaches for Five’s wrists, pinning them flat to the ground, trying not to think about how bony they feel, how easy it would be to just snap them. 

He knows Five is older now, rougher around the edges, bitter from years spent in the wasteland, but at that moment all he can see is his long lost brother, barely thirteen and _in pain_ , the sight of him making the knot in Diego’s gut tighten, a walking reminder of the childhood they could have had but weren’t meant to. 

Five wiggles beneath him, desperately trying to free himself, slip out of his grip, but Diego’s grip is tight and firm, refusing to let go. 

He wishes, desperately so, that he could remember what it was about the briefcase malfunction, his memories too blurry and disconnected to untangle. Too vague to be anything other than useless. 

“Diego!” he hears Vanya’s voice somewhere behind him, soft but uncharacteristically firm. He throws her a questioning look over his shoulder, takes in her pale face and the determined curve of her brows.

Vanya takes a deep breath.

“I… I think I can help.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm literally making it up as I go, lol. 
> 
> I'm really sorry about the long wait, this chapter was causing me so many problems and in the end I can't exactly say that I'm happy with it, maybe because I genuinely suck at writing dialogues and I'm still trying to nail the characterization of these characters. I spent so much time going back and forth trying to get the voices right it's kind of embarrassing...
> 
> I would have updated earlier, but I started to write a different fic with a similar 'Five gets stuck in the apocalypse, AGAIN' premise, so if you are into this kind of thing you can go to my profile and check out 'Power and Control' :) I'm really excited about this one and I'll try to update both of these fics as often as possible. 
> 
> Also, I really wanted to thank everyone for all the love I received under that first chapter, I am honestly so overwhelmed? Thank you for all the kudos, bookmarks and especially comments! They mean so much to me, I'm totally one of those basic bitches who get an instant rush of validation whenever they get a new comment and I'm not even sorry.
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! I'm really excited to find out what you thought about it and where do you think the story is going :D Thank you so much for reading & see you next time!


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